


Short, Depressing, Lightless Stories

by King_Of_The_Giant_Isopods



Series: Short Horribly Depressing Stories [1]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: Dark, Depressing, Fucked Up, Gore, Sad Ending, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_Of_The_Giant_Isopods/pseuds/King_Of_The_Giant_Isopods
Summary: This will just be a series of short and depressing, fucked up, and horrible stories. None of them are really connected, though may occasionally "reference" another story, so basically, they're all stand-alone one-shots. They'll all have sad endings, hopefully, and won't be for the faint-hearted.I've already posted 6 "chapters" to Wattpad (https://www.wattpad.com/story/252841522-depressing-lightless-short-stories), and so you can find more there, but I will have some special "chapters" here and not on Wattpad, so look out (If you really care).
Series: Short Horribly Depressing Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155284





	1. Green And Blossoming Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a small woods, popular for its rampant deer population, and nearby waterfall and mountainscape, a young deer prances around, scavenging for berries or leaves to enjoy, unaware of the hunters tracking it, and its partner.

Green And Blossoming Woods

The yellow sun slowly rose over a forest of green and brown, illuminating the morning sky as it grew. Crickets chirped in the distance, just barely audible. Moss grew on the sides of every tree, and droplets of morning dew slipped off the petals and leaves of the grasses and bushes lining the forest floor. The sound of a stream echoed between the trees. The air was thick with morning and stunk of soggy moss, moist wood, and shrubberies. The sound of fallen decaying leaves being stepped on, crunching under the weight of an animal sounded once every so often.

The soft caws of birds and the sound of jumping salmon in a far off stream filled the forest. And in pace with the forest, a small young deer slowly walked through it, taking its time as it moved between trees and stopped to take small bites at patches of plants. The young deer moved lethargically, taking notice of the sound of the birds cawing or decaying leaves descending from the trees around it.

The deer stood still for a moment, its head stiff and eyes wide. It finally relaxed as another deer walked behind it, this one tall and large. The small deer turned to look to its new companion, its body the size of an ant when compared to the new deer. The big deer walked to its small friend and signaled its head to continue walking. The two deers walked together, occasionally stopping if they found any good berries to eat. They stood close together when they walked, and the large deer always ate first, gently pushing against the other if it tried to eat first.

The deers walked for some time through the forest, the grass beneath their feet becoming rougher as they walked, the moss on the trees became thicker, and the sounds of birds and water became louder the more they walked. Finally, they pushed through a thicket of bushes and found their hooves on stone, a clifftop ahead them. The small deer looked from left and right; to its right, the stream it could hear was now visible, and it poured over the cliff-top and into a rushing lake, and to its left a stoney floor gave way to a mountainside.

It called to its companion, its voice carried fear and distraught as it moved through the air, but it was only nudged forward by the large deer towards the stream and waterfall. The small deer hesitantly moved forward, its legs shaky and quivering as it moved. It cried out as the larger deer moved past it, their sides gently pumping against one another. The small deer stood for a moment, its eyes full of dread, but it kept moving, and soon it reached the stream.

The large deer drank from the stream, its head bent low and its attention on the water flowing beneath it. The small deer mimicked its friend and started to drink, barely having to bend its head to drink. The moment seemed to last an eternity, the only signs of time passing the birds overhead screaming out for one another. The large deer finally looked up from the water, the soft fur around its mouth and head softly glazed with water droplets. The other deer followed in movement, and looked up, realizing the view before it.

The two deers stood, unmoving, and stared on. After seemingly staring forever, the small deer turned to the other and watched it. The small deer watched its companion in silence. Its eyes strained the longer it watched, seemingly encapsulated by the large deer. The large deer finally turned to its companion and watched it too. They stood in silence and watched one-another.

A loud crack broke through the air and silence, and the large deer toppled over, the clear water that had been running under its hooves slowly turning a pale red. The small deer called out, jumping to movement as the large deer moved its head and screamed, its voice agony and pain embodied. The small deer's eyes filled with fear, and it fled back to the trees they'd come from, the sound of its companion crying out in distraught echoing from one tree to another. The small deer ran and ran, the sound of the stream inaudible over the sound of dead leaves being trampled as it ran. The deer never slowed or looked from where it'd come, its mind focused only on what laid ahead as it ran.

The stream's water finally ran pure as the large deer stopped moving, its voice now tattered and rasp as it called out. Its chest heaved up and down slowly and forcefully, forcing air through the lungs and out its nose. The deer's eyes slowly blinked open and closed, open and closed, until they closed and didn't open again. Its stomach stopped moving up and down, and it stopped calling out. The deer laid still, the nature around it unchanged from before it had walked from behind the forests' trees.

Heavy and deep laughs filled the air as two men walked from behind a rough boulder, and up to the deer. Their clothes were a mess of greens and browns and greys, their chins were lined with short stubble, their stomachs barely bulged from beneath their shirts, and a single gun sat strapped to the back of each man, a leather strap holding them in place. " That was just too damn easy." One man said as he grabbed the legs of the large deer, dragging its body off the wet stone ground of the stream and onto the grassy ground he stood on. The man reached his hand out, and the other man placed a knife in his hand, its long silver blade reflecting sunlight as it moved between them.

END


	2. Red and Golden Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the white and glazed snow of winter falls and blankets a small town, nearby in farmland rarely spocked with houses, a family celebrates Christmas with joy and holly. Until, a fire breaks out, and traps them all, dooming them to a painful death.

(This one took awhile, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to post it or not, but I am, and I hope you enjoy!)

As the darkened and consuming night sky slept over a small town, green, red and white lights lit every street, green cone-shaped trees sat outside every building with fragile plastic orbs hanging off every branch, and powdered white snow blanketed the tops of everything in the town.

The moon sat in the sky empty, and the night stars dotted the sky at random. Heat came from the homes randomly grouped around the town, and few people occupied the streets. Calls of joy and voices full of merry came from every house. Outside the small town, uneven green hills and flat towed farmland stretched as far as the eye could see, and few houses marked the land at random. One house stood out against the dim night sky and green land, its wooden exterior walls covered in a blur of flashing green and red lights. Large blow-up Santas and large fake gift boxes were randomly placed around the house and around three cars sat before the house, their seats empty and trunks full of luggage.

Inside, a group of eight sat in couches, loveseats, and on the floor, all circled around a fireplace. Five Adults sat huddled together and spoke quietly as they watched 3 small kids tear through wrapping paper and find the boxed-treasures that the holiday always brought as it passed through the year. The adults drank from cups full of liquor and spoke about everyday topics.

A fake fire burned on a TV screen, nestled atop a large brown TV stand, shelves holding picture frames and books stood on the bottom half of the stand. In one picture frame, an old gray-haired man stood beside a young girl dressed in a graduation gown, a diploma from Bleakburn State Highschool was held between their hands.

The scent of roasted chicken and herb-seasoned vegetables floated from a doorway and into the busy room, and one of the kids called out, "Daddy, is dinner ready?" The oldest man of the adults responded, his voice rough and heavy, "I think so." The man stood up and called for all the kids to follow him as he walked out of the room.

The man headed into a long cramped room, where a long wooden table took up most of the space in the center of the room, and the walls of the room were lined with images and letters. The man pulled out a chair from the head of the table and sat, watching as a woman brought plates beaming with food to the table, a reindeer head with a special red nose painted on the apron wrapped around her. The other adults and kids walked into the room and took their seats, conversations flowing between everyone.

The woman eventually placed a final meal down on the table, and took a seat, unwrapping the apron from her body and laying it over the back of her seat. She reminisced about "Papa's" death, and looked to everyone, a yellowish-white smile on her face. She started speaking, her voice drowning out everyone else in the room. She said how happy she was to have her family together, and expressed the joy she felt seeing them connected. She told a blonde woman sitting beside her how nice it was to have her daughter home from college just in time for Christmas and turned to the man at the opposite head of the table, saying how joyful she was to have had her husband, how he helped support her after her father's death. She joked about going on over nothing, and told everyone at the table to dig in, as "This food won't eat itself!"

The family began grabbing plates of food and transferring meals from serving dishes to theirs, a loud burr of conversation masking the sound of cutlery clinking against plates and other cutlery. The woman took off a scarf as she made a remark about how hot the room was, but kept eating, stuffing her mouth with roasted meat and seasoned potatoes as she listened to a young girl talk about her college experience. The group went silent as they heard a loud whizz and crack, but all called out in joy when they realized they'd heard fireworks and stood up from their seats to watch the fireworks, all of them circled around a small window across the room from the dinner table.

Finally, the firework show ended and the family took their seats again and continued eating. Time went on as they ate, and the conversations quieted down as the foods on the table started to disappear, the meal slowly coming to an end. As the final forkful of chicken and spoonful of bread-pudding was eaten, the kids quickly stood from the table and ran back to the Christmas tree, leaving the adults to follow behind them or help clean the aftermath of the meal.

The large old man called "Daddy" followed the kids with just another adult to accompany him, and watched as the kids got back to opening their presents. He waved as the rest of the people in the house entered the room, finally finished with cleaning up the aftermath of dinner. He patted the seat next to him on the couch, as the woman who'd made dinner took the seat, a smile on her face as she talked to the other adults and started to watch the kids.

The house buzzed with joy and holly as the family bonded, and even the adults got to open presents, well-written notes slipped on the tops of each present and the green and red polka dot or striped wrapping papers smoothed out. The family finally quieted down as the last present was finished being opened, and the room held tight with anticipation of what the next activity was, until the youngest kid of the three, yelled out.

"Mama! Mama! Look!" The boy's voice was young and livid as he yelled out and pointed across the room, towards a window. The family all turned to see what the young kid had pointed to, and saw; the frost-covered world outside the window was being blocked by a red hue as golden-red and orange flames as they crept up the house. Yells broke loose as the room filled with motion, the kids started to scream and the adults started to stand and demand order. Bright and consuming red flames had now found their way inside the house and started to move towards the family, heat filling every room as a constant crackle and woosh sound of the fire moving accompanied the hastily spreading fire.

The house was now the brightest house in all the fields, its green and red Christmas lights still working under the fire, giving it a soft and occasionally red and green underglow as it consumed the house. The yells of the family were audible as the fire finally climbed into the room they'd all been restricted to, every doorway or window covered by more crackling fire. The sound of sirens echoed between the hills and through flat fields as fire trucks and EMTs drove to the house, painting the roads and trees around them with red and blue as their lights flashed. Occasional spots of black and charred wood peeked through the flames as they swept up the house, lighting the grass around the house with red and orange lights.

On a hill overlooking the house, now consumed and bathed in orange and red flames, sat a snowman, a black top hat sat crooked on its head, a single pale pink Azalea rested on the side of the hat. An orange and red polka dot scarf was wrapped around its neck and fell down at its sides. A smile was forced on the snowman's face, its composition 6 small black pebbles. 2 more pebbles made up its blank unmoving eyes, forcing it to watch the house as the ceiling collapsed in, a pillar of smoke rising from the roasting home. Beside the snowman, sat strewn on the ground a pack of matches, the words "Light Your World!" printed in bold black letters on the box; And besides that box of matches, sat a single match, withered and burnt, its black body bold against the white snow.

END


	3. Midnight's Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a beach blanketed with the darkness of night, a woman, encased in a dress made from the very light that streams from the moon itself, runs for her life.

The scent of sea salt and seaweed infested the air of a beach, as the silver moon and pale white stars hung low in the night sky. The sound of ocean waves crashing against a shore echoed through the air. Flashes of light danced around as they reflected off a woman, dancing as she moved down the edge of the ocean, water to her right and sand to her left.

Her feet moved fast, as her hands held the tips of her dress up, its tens of layers of silver and gray fabrics moved in rhythm with the woman's body, but also the ever slightly blowing wind. She looked behind her every so often, revealing the path she'd made in the sand, in her wake she was leaving soft dents in the sand, molded around her feet.

She moved with a pep in her step but soon stopped, breathing heavily as she finally stopped moving. She moved her hands to let them rest, the lips of the dress and its fabrics finally getting to touch the sand as her heavy breathing filled the air around her. She kept turning her head back and forth, trying to focus on the beach, both behind and ahead her.

The woman's breathing finally slowed down, and she started to move again, but this time at a relative walk. She had let go her dress, and was allowing the silver silk of it glide along the sand of the beach as she walked; her tracks within the sand, once a pattern of dented sand, were now softly etched lines that wiggled back and forth like a snake. Her tracks were distorted, their shapes implying a creature beyond belief had created them.

As she walked, she took in the scene around her. She watched the glistening moon, listened to the moving ocean, and inhaled the salty seaweed scent of the beach. She occasionally ran the tips of her hands through and over the fabric of the dress, as fluorescent and silver as the moon that rested in the sky. The dress's fabrics seemed to be made of the very rays of light that streamed from the moon.

She was blissful now, sure that the thing she'd been running from had given up. And she was right, as no one occupied any strip of the beach, well other than her. Deciding she was safe, the woman hummed a soft tune to herself, and allowed her mind to wander off. She thought of many things, but, at the end of every thought, her mind came back to the reason she was where she is now.

She kept remembering the way the very dress she wore was made and fitted upon her. As pretty as the dress was, she didn't want to wear it. She'd made an unforgivable mistake: she'd let her lust to be beautiful, and her bashfulness of those she deemed less than her, consume her. Her punishment? To be bound to the dress created from the very beams of light that streamed from the silver moon, the fabrics those streams of silver and grey light created sown into her skin.

She tried to lie to herself and say she enjoyed the dress, the way it blew in the wind and the silky way it moved across your fingers or tried to focus on the soft silver glow it had when light danced upon it, but deep down she always reminded herself she really didn't. Every time the wind tugged on the edge of the dress too roughly or she took too big of a step, she could feel the strings that entwined the base of the dress with her blistering skin, start to strain and ache with intense agony. And while she couldn't see it, due to the dark that the night sky brought, the dress developed a few strikes of red along its fabrics and body, their complexions dark and deep, and their sources the blood that leaked from her skin, past tightly sewn crosses of string.

But what could she do? She could live with the dress entwined into her being, letting it drive her mad with small surges of pain, or, as much as she didn't like the idea, she could tear the dress off of her body, tearing patches of her once majestic skin with it, leaving her a disgusting and monstrous sight of red, torn, and raw flesh.

She decided she wouldn't contemplate this right now, and decided that while she could, she'd just focus and take in the sight of the empty beach, its beauty only enjoyable by her.


	4. The Nonpermance Of Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a small city park, just one of many, a group of parents and their little kids, the oldest ones just eight years old, are gathered for an evening together, whether to talk or to play on the playsets of the park. But, as the day winds to an end, and the sun starts to set, a figure reveals itself from the shadows of a tree, its eyes set on one of the children. 
> 
> (Didn't want to spoil too much ahhahah)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey, this is about a young kid being kidnapped. It is *not* for the faint of heart. It is dark, like almost all of the writings in this series will be. If you can't take stuff about kids being in harms way, I'd say skip this, and (sarcastic) go read the story about a family burning to death, which should be chapter 2, if I remember right.
> 
> Also, when transferring this from my pre-write file to here, some things got fucked up (Oh, no, curse word), and so some like sentences may not end when needed or words may be combined horribly, sorry in advance.

A small city buzzed with the constant sound of cars and people as they moved through it, large concrete buildings stretched into the sky throughout the city, and the flashing of lights of cars, homes, billboards, and more flashed on and off. Occasional city blocks of green were specked around the city, benches, swings, slides, and boldly painted plastic playsets filled these blocks of green, a constant flow of families, feral cats, and hopped up teens flowed through these parks. 

In one park, a group of mothers and fathers watched as their young children ran around a brightly painted plastic playground, and babbled barely coherent words to one another. The parents of all the kids, the oldest of them eight years old, all talked and laughed at funny stories of their kids doing stupid things, while their kids all ran up and down the playground set and scooped up handfuls of gravel, tossing them into the softly blowing wind.

This went on for hours, and soon the air became thick and humid, and the sky was painted with bold orange and tan pink. The playing and adulting went on in the park, though some parents left, scooping up their little ones in their arms and resting them against their chest, waving goodbye to other parents as they walked through the park’s steel gates. Soon only 3 parents and children couples were left, and they talked quietly, reminiscing over the day. 

two boys and a girl were left on the playground, their clothes were rough and stained with grey and tan spots from the gravel covering the playground ground. Their bodies were barely covered in a slick layer of sweat as they took turns sliding down a long metal slide, the setting sun reflecting off it as their bodies slipped down it. The two boys always waited for the girl to come up the plastic stairs and to go down the slide, repeating the manners their parents had drilled into their heads at home. One boy always went last, his sweat-covered caramel skin shining the sun away as he went down the slide, his thick and curly black hair and indigo blue jeans rubbed against the bottom of the slide as he moved down it. 

The parents all turned their attention from the kids, sure that nothing would happen, as nothing had in the entire day. The 3 kids continued to go down the slide and up the stairs to it, up and down, up and down, until one of the kid’s attention had been snagged away from the slide, and towards two figures. The two figures stood still, their identities and garments hidden by the unusually dark shade of a tree, at the opposite side of the park. 

The kid and the figures stood still, the two figures’ attention clearly focused on the kid. The sound of leaves rustling as the wind blew them in their respective trees, and car horns honking just outside the reach of the park’s metal fence and gates filled in the silence between the three as they watched each other. The kid kept watching on, ignoring the other two kids as they pleaded with him to continue sliding with them.

The kid watched and watched the two figures until finally one of them moved from the cover of the shadows. The figure revealed itself to be a woman: Blonde hair peeked from under a gray hoodie that wrapped around her pale white body, something metallic clinked in her cargo pants’ pockets as her lengthy legs moved, and two dark black backpack straps were tight against her chest as she walked towards the kid, his body unmoving as he continued to watch on. 

The woman stopped when she got to be halfway between the other silhouetted figure and the boy. She bent down and moved her hand in a corralling motion, beckoning the young boy closer to her. She spoke when he had gotten in earshot of her, her voice raspy and tattered as she spoke. “Hey, kiddo! I lost my dog, Mr. Kibbles, can you help me find him?” The woman took out a thick phone from her hoodie, a dark green case covered the back and sides, and its screen was dim but held a photo of a dog, its fur coat a mix of thick brown and blacks. The woman looked behind her as she showed the kid the photo, checking to see where her partner was; she saw her associate had moved from where they’d been standing and was now outside the park, their identity was now visible as they moved around, and got into a car, the windows tinted an impenetrable black.

The boy’s eyes lit up, and he nodded his head up and down vigorously, starting to say yes excitedly as he moved his head. “Yes, yes yes! Doggy!” The boy said loudly. The woman quickly lunged at the boy, the taste of salty sweat filling the boy’s mouth as her hand covered it. The woman shushed the boy and said that his parents couldn’t know he’d gone to help her, or they wouldn’t let him have the prize she would give him when they found her dog. 

The woman looked over the boy’s shoulder towards the playground and saw the other two kids weren’t on it anymore. Her eyes darted to the gate on the other side of the park, and she saw the two other kids and all the parents there, waving bye to each other. She unclasped her hand from the boy’s mouth. 

“Ok, let’s go. Fluffy will like you.” The woman cringed as she said ‘Fluffy’, the mess up in the story a major liability. But the boy didn’t notice, and he followed the woman as she grabbed his small hand and tugged him. Small patches of dirt and gravel were left crunched and damaged as the boy jumped up and down as he followed the woman out of the park. The woman opened the door to the car her partner had started up, small puffs of smoke exiting from the exhaust. She stuffed the boy in the back seat and said that her dog would be so happy when they found it and closed the door. 

She opened the door to the passenger seat but took a second to look over the park, pulling her hoody further up her head. Her eyes widened as she saw two parents start to run at the car, screaming to give them their child back. She hastily sat in the passenger seat and told her partner to hit the gas, closing the door as the car swerved onto the road, and got lost in the sea of traffic just a block from the park. 

She turned to the boy in the backseat, peering outside the dark windows and towards the roots of tall buildings, his eyes traveling from thing to thing, looking for the dog that he was going to save. The woman chuckled, mumbled to the driver that ‘youth is a fragile shield’, and reached for the boy. 

END


	5. Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a woods, desolate of people, a man runs, his life on the line. Something stalks the man, moving between trees, though soon it gives up its chase...though only for a moment.

The moon’s reflection rippled in a puddle as a pair of feet, encased in dark brown boots broke the stillness of the water. The pair of feet belonged to a man, his brown hair was ruffled and his clothes, once dark blue and black, were stained with grey, red, and brown spots. The sound of him pushing air out of his lungs and through his mouth and throat was loud and masked the sound of cicadas and crickets as they chirped far off, hidden by a wall of tall pine trees. 

The ground was marked with boot prints as the man ran, his body stung with pain and tiredness, but he never stopped or even looked behind him. To his sides, trees formed an unbreakable wall, their shafts a maze and their leaves a barricade. A dirt path, occasionally speckled with puddles of water, ran under his feet, stretching far ahead and behind him. Stars sat in the dark unmoving sky, their beautiful and soft silver glows singing out to the man for him to stop and watch them; but his eyes refrained from watching the stars and stayed focused on the trees around him, searching the canopies of leaves as he ran. 

The man was finally forced to slow his pace to a stop when his body surged with pain, his legs locked, his lungs slowed, but his eyes kept searching the tree-tops. His body slowly recovered, and he stopped searching, thinking that just maybe he’d lost pursuit. He bent down, resting the sweat-covered palms of his hands against his jean covered knees. 

The man took one more look at the treetops, his head moving from left to right as he scanned the tops of the trees, all palely outlined against the night sky. The man stood back up and started moving, but now at a slower pace. He breathed deeply and slowly. His eyes slowed and focused on the path in front of him. He started quietly humming to himself, with no particularly consistent rhythm. 

He walked for some time, his heartbeat slowing as his mind calmed. 

His body stopped and locked as his attention filled with the sound of leaves rustling, even though no wind blew. He stood still, his legs and joints forcing him to stay in place as the rustling leaves grew in sound. His nose filled with a scent that could only be described as decay and death combined. A loud trilling scream echoed between the trees, and the man finally moved, covering his ears with his hands. 

His eyes caught a blur of grey, brown and pale white as something lunged from a tree, and at him. His body was thrown back as it was hit by this blur, his black shirt tearing as it scraped against the ground. He tried to yell out, but his voice had given out, and he watched in horror as the figure that’d hit him stood above him, its body similar in physique to a human’s. A mix of greys and pale white colored in the dry and torn skin of this creature, black, and oozing holes occasionally marked its body, and bone white spikes jutted out of its back. Its head was similar to a human’s, but its cheeks were ripped and torn, revealing the innards of its mouth, were a tongue, inflated and grey in color thrashed around and the jaw was lined with teeth. A green and grey saliva flowed between its thin and jagged teeth and spilled out its mouth. Its eyes were glazed over with a soft grey and pearly white color, its pupils missing.

A single tear streamed from the man’s eye, and a whimper escaped his mouth, fear made his body shake and tremble under the creature’s arms, pinning him to the ground. The fingers of the creature moved up and down in a rhythm in a wave-like motion, large claws and sharp nails attached to the end of each finger. The man’s mind was blank and unthinking, and he knew why: This was the perfect hunter; He would’ve been caught no matter what. As this thought crossed the man’s mind, he finally managed a word, “Perfectional.”

END


	6. Elysian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a small, once sterile white and well organized room, a young girl paints the walls with as many colors and shapes as she can, creating for her a near perfect world, only enjoyable to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for anyone interested (If you are actually interested, feels bad):   
> I was originally doing a schedule of postings chapters on Wensedays to AO3 and Wattpad, and then an extra chapter to AO3 on Friday, but that was a little annoying with such a short time period between the different posting times, so this chapter and presumably the ones would normally come out on Fridays (About every 2nd chapter) will be out on Saturdays.

The sounds of young, girly, giggles filled a small room, its formerly plaster white walls now covered in scribbles, their colors stolen from the rainbow. The soft patter of feet echoed alongside the giggles, as a young girl ran around the room, new streaks of colors dancing behind her and along the walls.

White, fluorescent lightbulbs lit the room up well. A bed, no more than a simple and thin metal frame wrapped around a mattress, with a thick white blanket lying atop it, hid drawings partially behind itself, their disorganized and rainbow-colored bodies peaking past the mattress and frame. A door stood tall opposite the room of the bed, no door handle was spotted on it, but a window stood near the center top, showing a white-tiled hallway hiding beyond the door.

The little girl kept giggling as she ran, her voice and giggles growing in quantity and sound. But soon she slowed down to a stop, and the girl's eyes widened as she slowed down, her hand that'd been painting the walls with different shapes and streaks, falling to her side. She turned to gawk around the room, taking in the images inscribed into the walls; the shapes and blends of colors formed a luxurious and intricate world to her, a world full of rushing blue lakes, ever-expanding grey and white-capped mountains, lime-colored fields of flowers and lemon grasses. She stood still and took in the world around her, assembled by her, and made for her. The colors of the world didn't really match the colors on the walls around her, but she didn't seem to notice.

Her body remained still, but her mind, enveloped within the world, took a step forward, getting shrouded in the aroma of pale red and white roses. The girl's real body sat down, laying its knees and legs under the weight of her body. The girl's real body just sat in that position, but her mental body, occupying the magical world she'd seen in the scribbles, looked around itself, and extended a hand to its side, wrapping the tips of its fingers around a flower. The girl plucked the rose from the ground, and brought it close to her face, examining the colors of the petals, painted a similar mix of rainbow as the walls of the room surrounding her physical body.

She hurled the flower aside, unhappy that she'd killed it, only for it to have been so ordinary. "Mr. Meaner, where are you?" The girl now called out, looking around her. The girl looked around her before standing up, the man dubbed Mr. Meaner not anywhere to be seen. She started walking, not sure where this "Mr. Meaner" could be. She roamed for quite a while, the landscape around her never-changing: The mountains around her never changed in height or perspective, the hills around her never changed in size or length, the streams around her never changed in width or speed, the fields around her never changed in length or size, and the sky never changed from its white and blank color.

The girl walked and walked, the land ahead of her unmoving, and the landscape around her stationary even though her legs were always moving.

The girl's real body was divorced from her mind, and it sat slumped in the white room, the walls still covered in scribbles. She didn't even notice as the door in the room just barely opened up. She didn't even notice the man who slipped between the door and wall, a small box in his hands. She didn't even notice when he walked to her and bent down to her, a grim look on his face. She didn't notice when he opened up the box in his hand and brought out a syringe. But she did notice, no,  _ felt _ , when the needle of the syringe pierced her skin, injecting the syringe's contents into her blood.

Her mind was ripped from the colorful world she'd been occupying, and was dragged into reality. Her eyes, no longer seeing the ever-extending mountains or fields of her make-believe world, but instead, the scribbled over walls that encased her in the small room, widened and locked onto the man's, his eyes sympathetic as he watched her. She watched as the man's mouth moved to form words, but the only thing she heard was the sound of a high-pitched hum.

She blinked repeatedly, her eyelids seemingly gaining weight each time they came together, but whether she had let her eyes stay shut because they were too heavy or she just wanted to return to her special world, she wasn't sure. As her eyes stayed closed, slowly her special world came back, but this time, she made it as perfect as can be. She made birds sing in the distance, she made the grass and fields dance in the wind, she made the leaves of trees rock back and forth. She made her special world, her perfect world, free of any problems or any flaws.

And this time, as she walked, searching for "Mr. Meaner", the world moved and changed around her. The world she made worked as she wanted, as she had made it to be. She walked, but this time with a pep in her step, knowing she'd find Mr. Meaner. Knowing this world was made for her, knowing it was  _ her _ elysian world.


	7. Man In Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deep within night-drenched woods, a man drags a course, the life of which was emptied by the man's own hand. He doesn't care if he get's caught, as it's not his first time killing, nor his last, and he knows he can always twist the sympathy of others around him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this at like, a weird time when I was busy, and refuse to change it, so, aha, sorry

The metallic taste of blood lingered in a man’s mouth as he wiped his hand across his stubble-lined face. The man didn’t recoil at the taste, nor delighted in it either, but instead decided to ignore it as he bent down to the ground and grabbed something. He bent down as he wrapped his two hands around something, and started dragging it. The thing he was dragging, was the lifeless corpse of his now ex-wife. 

Blood dripped from the back of the woman’s head as her body was dragged, but it was only soaked up by the grass and soil ground of the woods the woman’s now ex-husband had decided to hide her in. These woods were a popular hunting spot, deers ran rampant during early September, and a nearby mountainscape drew in tourists and climbers year around. The desolate chirp of cicadas and crickets somewhere accompanied the man’s heavy breathing as he continued to drag the body, weaving between thick and tall wooden trees that seemed to watch over him. 

The man had already dug out a hole deep within the forest, and was just trying to get there as fast as he could; not that it mattered much. The man knew that even if he was caught with the lifeless corpse of his ex-wife in his hands, he wouldn’t get in trouble. The man and his wife, or well the wife not so much any more, lived in a small suburbia, and he knew that he wouldn’t get in trouble. 

The man had the minds and condolences of the town’s people looped around him and any story he could make. This wasn’t the man’s first time killing. He’d already killed countless numbers of people, and every time suspicion seemed to loop its way around town and towards him, he always deflected it, whether by way of persuasive and pitiful words or by false but realistic lullabies and testimonial backings. No matter what, the man knew he had the will and pity of his town wrapped around his fingers, bendable and shappable as he needed. 

But, in the moment now, the man didn’t care much about what he’d do to cover the story of his ex-wife’s “sad and abrupt” disappearance; instead, he continued to savor the high that he’d gotten from killing her. He delighted in remembering how her screams and pleas for help were unheard to anyone but him, the way his victim’s life seemed to drain from their eyes and body, the stop in their retaliation always a moment to enjoy. 

The man had finally reached the hole where he’d hide the body. He let go of the body for a second, moving to get a better look of it and the hole, and just as he’d thought, the body would perfectly fit. He took a second to breathe, something his ex-wife would never be able to do, and then bent back down to toss her body in the hole. It took more effort than he’d expected to lift the body and toss it into the hole, but the sound of the body thumping against the bottom of the hole made him ecstatic and decide the effort was worth it. 

The man took another second to look over the hole, a smile spreading across his face as he took in the sight of his ex-wife’s bent and crooked body in the hole, blood pooling out from the back of her head, the source a stab wound. He wiped his hands against his head again, this time rubbing the back his of right hand against his cheek, where dried blood and scratch marks were noticeable, the only defense his ex-wife had given.

Finally, the man started to move again, reaching for the shovel he’d used to make the hole, of which it laid at the top of. He grabbed the shovel, and started to work, replacing the dirt from the hole. It was easy to move the freshly disturbed soil and dirt, and the man watched with a fading attention span as the dirt moved to cover the corpse, the clothes that wrapped around his wife’s skin slowly becoming hidden along with her body.


	8. Blazed Red Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As fire spreads between, through, and over the once luscious tree of a woods, animals flee from it, moving as fast they can (Idk how to describe it, but it's good).

Blazed Red Nature

Pillars of smoke stretched into a night sky, painted a mixture of orange and red from flames as they spread over a forest, once colored with greens and browns. Loud cracks and whispers of burning wood and grass moved between each burning tree as fire spread further and further across the forest, all blending together into one loud, constant, sound. 

A few trees stood tall above all the others, their brunt tips peaking above the flames and towards the sky. The husks of trees and bushes stood behind the moving wall of fire, small embers littered the ground, their glows bold against the charred remnants of the forest; smaller fires persisted at random. Occasionally, animal carcasses laid unmoving on the ground, their skins wrinkled and burnt into a dark black, their eyes were softly glazed over, and their bodies were contorted into unnatural configurations. 

Some animals ran from the fire, their bodies covered in spots of powdered black and gray, and their furs ruffed and dry. The hooves of deers, paws of foxes, toes of rats, stick legs of insects, and wings of birds all moved up and down as the animals moved to escape the fire spreading behind them, an impenetrable wall of death to them, consuming everything without an end. 

The bright, pale orange fur coats of foxes camouflaged them with the fires behind them as they fled; the brown furs of the dears masked them between the few trees still untouched by the fires, their bases brown and green; the dark grey and black skins of the rats hid them within the ashes and leaves that marked the ground; The blues and blacks and reds and whites mixed the birds in with the night sky, nearly covered by the fires and their smoke.

The heavy hooves of the deers broke the ground as they ran and ran. The foxes' small paws left minute dents in the momentarily crisp forest soil as they ran and ran. The jumps of insects from one leaf to another slightly shook the soon-to-be burnt leaves as they ran and ran. The flaps of birds disturbed the night air and forced it around them as they ran and ran. The nimble legs of rats pushed rotting leaves, berries, and twigs aside as they ran and ran. The animals all left their mark as they ran from the fires, orange and red flames licking the backs of the animals as they fled from it.

The faint sound of sirens and planes could be heard over the animals and flames, the sirens repeating and repeating while the whir of planes, dropping fire retardants on the forest, zipped overhead. The shadows of the planes made no difference to the forest, the fires lighting up the areas around them with yellow and red. The lights from ambulances and firetrucks tossed blue and red and white lights at random, though made no difference in the color of the forest, a busy road always a few trees away from the animals. 

END


	9. Near The Coastal Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sound of salty ocean waves slapping against the stone and sand shores of a coast occupies the air. Nearby, in an isolated lighthouse, a man relishes in his last moments, aware of his soon and immanent death.

The sound of deep blue ocean waves slapping against eroding rocks filled the air of a shore, the sky layered above it was a dark solemn gray, and no human interference was visible, saved from an occasional beached plastic bag or metal soda can sat alone between the rocks. 

Far off in the distance, a foundation of stone smoothed by the constant pounding from the water around it, made the base and sides of a raised island, a thick and damp coat of weeds and grass grew on the top. The center of the island held the base of a tower, and parts of its foundation peeked from through the side of the island. A small portion of the island dipped low to the water around it, and attached to this dip of land was a small dock, holes varying in all sizes pocketed the dark brown wood it was made of at random. On a support of the dock, raised higher than the others, a sign stood blowing in the wind, fading black letters were printed on it read “Welcome To The Bleakburn Lighthouse! 300+ Years Of Standing Guard Over The Shores.”

The tower stood tall and still in the coastal winds, its body a messy composition of rocks and stones, a flashing light stood atop the tower, and a metal platform encircled the light. The light stayed dry from the soft sprinkle of rain as the clouds slowly unloaded upon the tower and black waters around it. 

Seagulls cawed in the distance, their bodies specks outlined against the moving gray clouds that filled the sky. Their caws made up for what the sea couldn’t in its noise: liveliness. Few windows were spaced around the lighthouse, their glass panes covered in dust, scratches, or droplets of water. In one window, built higher than all the rest, a dim light shone through it, painting the walls around it with a soft red and orange hue. 

The light came from a candle, the base ensnared by a golden yellow dish. The dish laid on a wooden cabinet, metal handles stuck out in pairs every few inches, and one cabinet rested open, haphazardly folded clothing flowing over and out of it. A few cotton socks and dark leather gloves laid under the cabinet and on the wooden floor of the lighthouse, the treated wood board flooring poorly lit by the candle. 

A bed rested beside the cabinet, the headboard and mattress custom made to accompany the circular walls of the lighthouse. A wrinkled blanket laid on the bed, the tan and indigo polka dots on the blanket bold against the thick white pillow lopsidedly placed at the top of the bed. A small dark brown rectangle carpet laid on the floor, partially concealed under the bed, which stood raised four inches off the ground. 

Stairs stood built into the floor, opposite of where the wooden cabinet was, the rickety and cracking wood of the stairs moaning as a figure moved up it, their posture hunched, skin wrinkled, and body short. The figure entered a coughing fit as they got to the top of the stairs, wheezing and gasping as their body shook back and forth in a fit, but were ever careful to not spill the thin glass cup of water in his hand. The figure spoke as their body started to rest still, their throat and lungs cleared, “So much for an easy living.” 

The sound of heavy and labored breathing filled the room as the figure moved from the stairs and towards the cabinet. The floorboards creaked under their weight as the person moved atop them. The person placed the cup of water to rest on the top of the cabinet, and opened the top drawer of the cabinet, revealing a stash of poorly framed photos, all covered in thin layers of dust. The figure reached for a picture placed neatly in the corner of the drawer, the frame of it wood, unlike the metal frames the others were neatly lined with. He grabbed it and retracted his arm, taking a long second to look over the picture in it: A young woman stood tall, a drink sloshed in her raised left hand, and a faded pink dress wrapped around her body. A large brick building stood tall in the background, vines growing on its sides and over a sign, the words “University Of Bleakburn.” printed into the sign. A thin paved concrete path traveled below the girl’s feet, dark dirt on either side of the path. 

The figure turned the frame over in his hand, revealing sloppily written text scribbled on the back: “Hey Papa! I’ve had so much fun at college, and have met so many amazing people! I think I’ll be home for Christmas time, wouldn’t want to upset mom on that! With love, Cindy.” The man took a deep, rattled breath, slowly moving a finger over the text, and rubbed it, as if feeling the sloppy pink words would fill his emptiness. 

“Oh, I’m not sure if I’ll make it to Christmas although.” The man whispered as he placed the picture and its frame back in the corner of the drawer, and closed it, sealing the picture to darkness. The man pulled open the drawer below the one filled with pictures, revealing red and white striped night-wear. The man carefully pulled out a shirt and pants, and slowly changed into them, tossing his old pair of clothes to the floor. 

The man reached for the cup of water he’d placed on the cabinet, and with a shaking hand brought it to his lips, taking a long sip of the water, savoring the cool and calming sensation as the water traveled down his throat. The man placed the water back on the cabinet top, not surprised as he watched red spread through the water, slowly tainting the water with a pale and soft red color. 

The man finally bent down more, weakly managing to get his body into the bed beside him, poorly covered himself in the tan and indigo polka dot blanket that’d been resting on the bed, and closed his eyes. His chest slowly moved up and down as air flowed in and out of his lungs, and the candle atop the cabinet slowly burnt out, a thin pillar of smoke coming from the burnt-out candle. 

The man laid still and listened to the sound of rain as it impacted the lighthouse walls, the sound of waves crashing as their flow was broken by the island holding the lighthouse prisoner, and the booms of lightning as they struck the water at random. The man recounted his life, and chose not to reminisce on what he could have done better, but choose to focus on what he had done.

END


	10. Pain Tainted Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a cozy apartment, tucked neatly between other apartments, a young man sits on his bathroom floor; He clutches his stomach with intense agony as a voice rung through his head, mocking the pitiful sight that the man was at the moment.

Soft jazz hummed through the walls of an apartment, tightly packed between other living spaces and buildings. A single window shone the fading light of the city sunset into the apartment, painting the polished wood floor with a soft sunset glow. Baby blue walls separated the few rooms in the apartment, all of them sparsely decorated. The room with the window was only decorated with a small couch and dinner table, plastic white boxes once filled with Chinese take out littered the table and ground around the couch. A television set sat on the ground, positioned in the center of the room and across from the couch. The TV’s screen was black and unmoving, but Jazz steadily streamed from the speakers built into its back.

Two doors placed on both sides of the TV, stood tall, leading into the only other rooms within the apartment. The door to the right of the TV gave way to a carpeted floor. This room was also sparsely decorated, the only things in it being a small twin bed littered with poorly folded black and grey covers resting on the stained mattress, and a small bedside cabinet, only Two drawers were attached to the front. A lightbulb dangled from the center of the room, a thin black cord holding it in place. Glass bottles, tinted brown, scattered the carpeted flooring and surroundings of the table, colorful labels printed onto them, all claiming their brand produced the best beer yet. 

Back in the room with the TV, lights flickered beneath the closed wooden door to the left of the TV, the traces of light managing to escape beneath the small crack between the door and floor. Soft groans and moans filtered through the door, all of them slow and pained. Behind the thick wooden door, a man sat on the white tiled floor, his back resting against the door. His pale blue eyes looked over the room he was in; a plaster white sink stood built into the wall opposite the man, a soaking tub stood alone to the right of the man, and a toilet, toilet paper sat on the floor beside it, was to the left of the man. 

The man-made another groaning sound. He closed his eyes and tilted his head down, aiming his now closed-eyes towards his chest and legs, strewn across the floor. After a brief pause between his moans, the man opened his eyes again. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice cracked, and as his high-pitched sounds managed to echo back at him in the small room, he closed his mouth again. He reached his free hand up, loosely grabbing at the door above his head, before finally grabbing the door handle, and managed to pull himself up.

Now standing, the man saw himself in a mirror, the glass reflection now visible over the sink, from his vantage point. He moaned again, his chest moving up and down slowly beneath his shirt as the sound left his mouth. The man looked himself over in the mirror and staggered towards it, his legs shoke violently and his body swayed slightly as he slowly moved to the mirror. As he reached the mirror-sink combo, he slammed the palms of his hands against the lip of the sink, steadying himself as he looked back into the mirror.

A voice filled the man’s ears and head, “ Oh, Ivan, look at you now. You went from the top of your college classes, to what?” The man, Ivan, didn’t react to the voice, no source in the room. He only moved his right hand and wrapped it around the side of the mirror, tugging on it with a shaking hand. The mirror moved, revealing a cabinet behind it, 3 shelves lined the cabinet, dozens of yellowish-orange medication bottles laid on each shelf. He reached out to a clutter of medications and grabbed one, the voice that’d spoken, telling him that nothing would fix anything. He opened the lid of the medication and poured out the entire contents of it, fifteen or so pills sliding into his hand without much retaliation. 

Ivan looked himself over in the mirror, taking in the sweat-covered shirt he was wearing and through-up stained pants wrapped around his legs. He looked at his face, his eyes were dull, green mucus slowly leaked from his nose, and bags were layered beneath his eyes. He looked down to his hand full of pills, resting on the lip of the sink beside his other hand, the other hand’s knuckles were white and strained as it held him steady. 

The voice spoke again, its tone more relaxed than before: “Go ahead, Ivan. Take them, and rest, at long last.” 

His eyes locked on the pills, small letters were cut into the white bodies of the pills. His eyes strained trying to read the letters, but whether the tears that flowed from his eyes were from the strain or from the moment he was locked in, Ivan didn’t know. Ivan forced his hand to move up to his mouth, shoving the white pills into his mouth as more tears streamed down his freckled cheeks. 

Ivan swallowed what he could, and turned the sink on, scooping up handfuls to pour down his throat. He drank a lot of water, and after not too long he heard the voice speak again, its tone now quiet and solemn, “Well done.” 

Though his mouth was numb and lip droopy, Ivan spook outloud, saying he was stronger than that. And with the little strength he could muster, Ivan let go of the sink, and stumbled to the toilet, lowering his body so that the top of his chest and head hovered over the sink. He felt his stomach flutter and fly, the sensation burning as it moved through his body, and slowly through his throat. 

And then the fluttering and flying sensation flew out his mouth, its body a mixture of olive green, mustard yellow, and bone white, and in the mixture, Ivan occasionally saw the small pills he’d shoved through his body, their bodies partially dissolved. The mixture flew from his mouth for minutes, coming out in waves, burning Ivan’s mouth as it escaped his body. 

The fluttering feeling had finally stopped, and Ivan looked up from the toilet, the inside of his mouth burning with a sour taste. The voice spoke again, so quiet that Ivan could barely hear it over the sound of ragged breathing: “ Well done, Ivan.”


End file.
